


Don't Look Back

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Prompt Fills 2019 [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 14:36:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17469419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the titles comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Atlantis, Evan Lorne +/ any, All of This Could Have Been Yours (Shooter Jennings)."Vague fusion with My Own Private Idaho.John never joined the Air Force. One day he runs into Evan Lorne and Rodney McKay.





	Don't Look Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SherlockianSyndromes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianSyndromes/gifts).



> Some dialogue straight from the movie.

John really hadn’t intended to be a Good Sheppard Man, to follow in his father’s footsteps, helm the company that generations of Sheppards had fought to build up and maintain. His father had decided his fate when he was fourteen: Harvard, JD MBA, join the family business. Take it over one day. Because John was John, was more messed up from the death of his mother than he cared to admit, he’d run off to Stanford, eschewed his father’s money, paid his own way through school. He had plans to join the Air Force, take to the skies but then he got the news.

His father was sick, was ailing - from the same illness that had taken John’s mother. Dave was barely old enough to look out for himself. John couldn’t abandon his little brother.

There was a certain triumph in returning to the Sheppard estate in Virginia wearing dusty jeans and an old leather jacket, a dirty t-shirt with unimaginable stains, and presenting himself to his father. Almost finished with undergrad. Ready to move on to law school. Ready to step up and do what was right. Patrick thought John was a degenerate waste of space? John was smarter and tougher than Patrick could imagine.

John got his pilot’s license, because he could get what he wanted, and he enjoyed flying helicopters if he ever had to fly anywhere. He married a proper woman, Nancy O’Hara, from a good family, Boston Brahmin, a talented and ambitious attorney in her own right. He made sure Dave was cared for all through school, that all of Patrick’s medical needs were met, and he made sure there was a seat on the board of directors when Dave was finished with school.

Patrick called most of the shots, and John did his bidding, if only to placate Patrick enough that he didn’t look too closely at the things John did on his own - fundraising for homeless queer youth, research into obscure branches of clean energy.

When the Air Force came calling, looking for a partner in its new zero point energy project, John said yes even though he was pretty sure zero point energy was a dead end, because he was feeling nostalgic about his youth, the days he dreamed of being one of those famed flyboys and zoomies. He agreed to meet with the Air Force representatives directly, maybe to see what he’d missed out on.

The Air Force sent Dr. M. Rodney McKay, the lead scientist on the project, and Major Evan Lorne, whose connection to the project was obscure but who was really probably along for the ride to make sure NDAs were upheld and maybe also protect Dr. McKay, whose brain was considered a national treasure in Canada.

John was sprawled on one of the spinning chairs in the lab conference room where his own R&D team - Radek Zelenka, Gina Esposito, Jenny Ambrose - were waiting to meet the famed Dr. McKay, swaying back and forth on the chair. It often made people nervous, that the CEO himself was there to oversee a meeting, and he wanted to see what Dr. McKay and the Air Force were made of.

Nessa, their summer intern and acting assistant receptionist, pushed the door open, held it.

“Dr. McKay, Major Lorne, in here.”

Radek, Gina, and Jenny sat up straighter, but John didn’t bother.

Dr. McKay was about what John had expected - wearing a sharp suit, hairline thinning, soft around the middle, but with his laptop already open and one hand flying across the keys, brow furrowed, expression intent.

Major Lorne was -

Time ground to a halt.

Bluebell.

*

They were sitting beside a bonfire on the beach, under an outcropping of rock to avoid the worst of the wind, keep their meager flames alight.

“Getting away always feels good.” John stared into the flames. His entire life was aimed at getting away.

Bluebell nodded. “Yeah.”

John knew only hints of what Bluebell was trying to get away from. He figured Bluebell deserved to get away from the streets, from hustling to make ends meet. John could walk from hustling whenever he wanted, but - not Bluebell.

Bluebell said, “I’d like to talk to you.”

John glanced at him, wary of the pensiveness in his tone. 

“I mean, I’m talking to you right now, but - I don’t feel like I can be really close to you. I mean, we’re close right now, but I want to be closer.” Bluebell looked away.

John sat up straighter, leaned toward him. “How close?”

“I dunno. Whatever.” Bluebell stared down at his hands. He had broad, strong hands, like a dock worker, but they were surprisingly graceful, capable of fine art, and John had seen some of the finest art to be had.

“What?” John pressed.

Bluebell resolutely avoided John’s gaze, but he asked, “What do I mean to you?”

That was a silly question. “What do you mean to me? You’re my best friend.”

“I know we’re friends. We’re good friends. And it’s good to be, you know, good friends.” Bluebell was rambling. That wasn’t like him. Was he nervous?

“So?” John looked right at him, unease prickling behind his breastbone.

“So I just -” There was a hitch in Bluebell’s voice.

John sighed. He’d always been the more sensitive of the two of them. Maybe it was the artist in him.

“It’s okay.” Bluebell’s voice was small. “We can be friends.”

John felt the unease in his chest solidify, turn heavy. “I only have sex with guys for money.”

Bluebell’s shoulders tightened. “I know.”

“Two guys can’t love each other,” John added, which was something he’d heard his father say, but he was pretty sure it was true.

Bluebell looked at him then. “I could love someone if I wasn’t, you know, paid for it. I mean, I love you, and you don’t pay me.”

John sighed. “Bluebell.”

Bluebell scooted away from him, curled in on himself. “I really want to kiss you.”

Dread curled through John.

Bluebell said, “Good night.” He buried his face in his arms, mumbled, “I love you.” Then he peeked up. “You know that. I do love you.”

He looked so small and miserable.

John sighed again, patted the space beside him. “Come on. Come sleep.”

Bluebell flung himself into John’s arms, buried his face against John’s throat. John held him, stroking his soft dark hair and wondering if he could ever love Bluebell back.

*

“Dr. McKay,” the broad-shouldered, uniformed man said, voice low.

Dr. McKay lifted his head. “Oh. Right. Zero point energy. This is all I can show you till you sign an NDA.” He pushed his laptop across the table without preamble.

Major Evan B. Lorne - according to his nametag - sighed again. He had his cover tucked neatly against his side. He leaned across the table, offered his hand first to Gina, then Jenny, the Radek, and finally John.

“Good morning. Thank you for taking the time to meet with us.”

John waited for the moment Major Lorne recognized him, but the expression on his face was perfectly polite and even.

Gina and Jenny were crowded around Radek, who had the laptop.

“Of course, Major, Doctor,” John said, fighting to keep his composure. He looked Major Lorne up and down. He’d know Bluebell’s blue eyes anywhere, his dimpled smile. But Major Lorne wasn’t the skinny street hustler from John’s misspent youth. He was a proud officer in the United States Air Force. Judging by the sheer number of medals and ribbons on his uniform, he had plenty to be proud of.

Since Radek and Jenny and Gina were engrossed in the laptop and Dr. McKay was answering emails on his smartphone, John was a bit at loose ends. He cleared his throat.

“Major Lorne. What’s your expertise in this project? I know the Air Force has the smart ones.”

John remembered curling up on the soft sand with Bluebell in his arms, talking about his dreams to fly, how both of them could fly, but John was a Stanford student hustling to make ends meet, and Bluebell was just hustling to survive. John wasn’t sure he’d even finished high school, let alone had the capacity for college, talented artist though he was.

But commissioned officers had to be college-educated, right?

“My masters in geophysics doesn’t actually qualify me for any expertise in this project,” Major Lorne said, expression wry, “but I have other qualities that make me useful on this project, the least of which are keeping Dr. McKay in one piece.”

Masters. Geophysics.

“I’m surprised you’re here, as CEO,” Major Lorne continued.

“CEO?” Dr. McKay raised his eyebrows, looked up from his phone.

“I briefed you in the car,” Major Lorne said in a low voice.

“I’m no physicist, it’s true,” John said, “but I did get my undergraduate degree in applied mathematics, so sometimes I understand more than people give me credit for.”

“Impressive,” Dr. McKay said. “Didn’t think you corporate types went in for that kind of thing.”

Major Lorne winced.

“Well, this wasn’t always my goal,” John admitted. “So, Radek, Gina, Jenny?”

“Where are those NDAs for us to sign?” Radek asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Major Lorne had a little leather binder tucked under his arm with his cover. He set it on the table, opened it, and drew out four thick documents, pushed them across the table. He even offered up a pen.

Of course John carried his own pen. It was Jenny, with a sigh of longsuffering, who had pens for her two colleagues.

“Any questions?” Major Lorne asked. “I’m no lawyer, but -”

Radek started initialing the first page. The others followed suit.

“I trust my team,” John said, and began to sign as well.

Once the documents were signed, Major Lorne collected them, checked them all carefully - while Radek and the others practically vibrated in their seats - and then he nodded to Dr. McKay.

Dr. McKay leaned across the table, spun his laptop around, typed rapidly, then pushed it back to Radek. A video started to play.

John leaned in to see it as well. It was some kind of documentary - Dr. McKay in a white lab coat in some kind of lab - military installation, judging by the uniformed personnel in the background, including Major Lorne in some kind of olive green uniform.

On the screen, Dr. McKay held up some kind of crystalline object and looked right at the camera. It had a flat, circular base,  but was jagged and tapered a little, formed of red and yellow and green and orange crystals.

“This,” he said, “is called a zero point module. It contains zero point energy. Lasts for about ten thousand years, maybe more. Three of them can power a city the size of Manhattan, a city that’s run almost entirely on clean systems as well. We know how to recharge them. We don’t know how to mass-produce them, and we have a war to fight. Are you up to the challenge?”

“How did you make the first one? Do you have specs?” Gina asked, tugging the laptop closer.

“We didn’t make it. We found it,” Dr. McKay said.

“Found it?” John echoed. “Where?”

“One in an archaeological dig in Ancient Egypt. One on another planet. Most of them in another galaxy,” Major Lorne said.

Jenny dropped her pens.

Radek choked on his coffee.

Dr. McKay said, “You can’t tell  _ anyone _ about this.”

*

When John had decided to take back his birthright, step up as the Sheppard heir, he’d understood what it would require, the least of which was completely cutting ties with the life he’d led before.

Spring break his senior year at Stanford, he’d traveled home, gone to meet his father, to set his destiny on his own terms.

After spring break, he’d returned to Palo Alto a new man, the scion of the Sheppard Industries empire, dressed to the nines in clothes tailored perfectly to him. What he wore on one wrist cost more than he’d make in an entire week of turning tricks. He stepped out of a sleek dark sedan and onto the sidewalk out front of an upscale neighborhood in a familiar neighborhood, waited till the driver got back into the car and pulled away. Sheppards were beyond valet service.

He headed into the restaurant, went to speak to the hostess, told her his name and the time of his reservation. Immediately he was swarmed by businessmen in austere dark suits, the kind of businessmen who might have paid him for a blow job down a dirty alley a few weeks back. They shook his hand and patted him on the shoulder and welcomed him to the club. He was standing beside a well-appointed table where several other industry power brokers were seated, making small talk, when whispers filled the air behind him, soft but disdainful laughter.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Moonshine and some of the street kids he’d hustled with, including Bluebell.

“Hey, Johnny,” Moonshine said.

Moonshine wasn’t their pimp, but he controlled them nonetheless. He thought he’d controlled John.

“Pardon me,” John said smoothly. “Do I know you?”

Moonshine’s expression faltered.

Bluebell’s gaze was terribly blank.

Several dark-suited men stepped up, caught Moonshine by the shoulders.

“Out,” they said firmly.

Bluebell and the others followed.

John returned to his conversation. He didn’t look back.

Sometimes, at night, when he lay beside his new wife, he remembered lying on soft desert sand beside a bonfire, Bluebell in his arms.

*

“Major Lorne is a saint,” Gina said.

“How so?” John asked. If he spent more time in the lab than the boardroom these days, well, he’d signed an NDA, and his math skills were actually useful to the task at hand.

“Have you seen how he puts up with Rodney?” Jenny asked.

On the other side of the lab, Lorne nudged a mug of coffee across the workbench. Rodney reached out and picked it up without even looking at it, took a sip.

John supposed Rodney’s ego didn’t faze him because he worked with all manner of high egotistical people, from top-notch scientists to billionaire businessmen and women to their high-strung trophy spouses who were purse poodles in human form.

But he watched more closely after that, and he noticed how Lorne would always bring snacks for Rodney (“He’s hypoglycemic,” Lorne explained, after Gina remarked on the third plate of cookies Lorne brought - that he’d apparently baked himself). The snacks were always citrus-free, a concession to Rodney’s allergy. Lorne brought coffee for everyone, so John hadn’t thought much about it, but Lorne also had a supply of Rodney’s favorite pens to hand, and even wet wipes for when Rodney’s germophobia kicked in.

Lorne also brought full meals for Rodney, and bottles of water once it was time to cut him off from coffee for the day so he could sleep well, and one time even a flash drive loaded with all of Rodney’s favorite music. He never seemed bothered by Rodney’s criticism if he didn’t make a cup of coffee quite right or Rodney wasn’t in the mood for chicken cacciatore for dinner, just coaxed Rodney into accepting what was brought and moved on.

Lorne must have helped out in the lab a lot, because he was helpful at soldering things, and he could do basic electrical wiring, and he observed basic lab safety. Once the project got underway, he stopped wearing his formal blue uniform, instead wore an olive uniform pretty much like he’d worn in the orientation video, except it seemed stripped down of patches. All it had was his name, an Air Force patch, and his rank. There were blank velcro spots on his uniform for more patches. They must have referenced information beyond the NDA the ZPM team had signed, because they never did learn how the Air Force got its hands on alien technology or what they were doing digging in the sands of Egypt.

If not for Lorne’s familiar blue eyes and dimpled smile, John could’ve believed he’d been mistaken that first day, that Lorne wasn’t the Bluebell he’d known two decades ago. Lorne never gave a single sign that he recognized John, a single hint that he’d known John before, called him Mr. Sheppard till John finally convinced him to call him by his first name (“Military habit,” Lorne said ruefully).

But then one night, when they were late at the lab, just the three of them, John noticed how Lorne’s hand lingered on Rodney’s shoulder, how Rodney would instinctively lean into his touch, and he knew.

They were lovers.

After that, it was easy to see how Lorne’s patience with Rodney wasn’t professional consideration but affection, love, a thousand small things learned to make Rodney’s day a little better, bring him a little more comfort. Their relationship was dangerous, what with Lorne being in the military and all.

John thought of his last long-term relationship - with Nancy, long dissolved - and wondered if he’d ever been that thoughtful, that considerate. If he’d ever risked that much for her.

One night, long after Radek, Gina, and Jenny departed, it was just John, Rodney, and Lorne. Rodney ended up falling asleep at the workbench after a couple of hours, and Lorne tucked his jacket over his shoulders, smoothed a hand over his hair.

John said, quietly, “Bluebell?”

Lorne turned to him. “That is what the B on my nametag stands for.”

“You’ve changed a lot, but - I’d know your eyes anywhere.”

“You know, in all the time we were friends, I never did learn your last name.” Lorne sat down at Radek’s workbench. He looked exhausted.

John moved to stand closer to him, kept his voice low. “You and Rodney?”

“Save each other’s lives a few times, you’re bound to end up liking each other at least a little bit.” Lorne met John’s gaze calmly. “You never talk about Mrs. Sheppard.”

“Unless you mean my younger brother’s wife, there’s only an ex-Mrs. Sheppard.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We weren’t meant to be.”

“There’s no such thing as meant to be,” Lorne said. 

John raised his eyebrows.

“There’s hard work and dedication, patience and sacrifice. Either you make it work...or you don’t.”

“You risk a lot for him,” John said.

Lorne glanced over his shoulder at Rodney, his expression fond. “Well, he’s worth risking everything.” He met John’s gaze, and John remembered that moment in that upscale restaurant all those years ago.

John swallowed hard. “Would you have risked everything? For me?”

“I did,” Lorne said softly. “I gave you my heart. It was all I had left to give you. Nothing else was mine. Not even - me.”

John flinched at the reminder of his very shadowed past.

Lorne said, “All of this could have been yours. The flying. The shared peril. The battle-born camaraderie. And everything beyond.”

“I have my pilot’s license,” John offered.

“There’s so much more out there, beyond the blue sky.” Lorne’s smile was wistful.

John remembered all those nights they’d lain side by side, oftentimes in a stranger’s bed, and whispered about their dreams, traveling the world, speeding across the skies. Finally he said, “I would have gone with you. But my father got sick, and my little brother -”

Lorne shook his head. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“I should apologize.”

Lorne shook his head again. “No need. We were children then. We know better now.”

John said, “I was wrong. Two men can love each other.”

“They can.” Lorne smiled, and for a moment, John saw the boy he’d known so long ago. “You know that. I did love you.”

John had realized far, far too late that he’d loved Bluebell back. Before he could say more, Rodney stirred, and Lorne was at his side immediately, rousing him gently, helping him to his feet.

“Good night, John,” he said.

“Good night,” John said, helplessly, and watched them walk away.

Lorne didn’t look back.


End file.
